Chapter Two: Sentence to Hell

A sharp pain stung at Dick's temples, causing him to stir awake. A yellow lamp hung above him, the brightness so overwhelming it doubled his vision. He noticed he was laying on a hard surface, turning his head to the side, he saw his arm outstretched and latched to a wooden surface by a leather strap. Dick tugged his other arm only to assume it was in the same situation. He lifted his head, groaning as he did, to see his ankles had been strapped down as well. The room was dark compared to the glare of the flickering light. He had no indication as to where he was. His detective mind quarreled with his fear and he suddenly realized the weight of the situation he was in. Nerves got the better of him.

Nausea hit him like a Mack truck, he lowered his head and gasped before he threw up bile. Throwing his head to the side, as to not choke on his own vomit, he coughed and gagged. His throat burned and his eyes watered as bodily fluids ran down the right side of his face. A familiar hand pulled his hair and forced him to look straight up; locking his eyes to a mask-less Slade.

"Gamma Hydroxybutyrate. Ten milliliter injection." The assassin stated as he pressed two fingers to the boy's jugular.

"That dosage could have killed me." Dick choked out, jerking at his restraints.

"You'll wish it did," Slade snapped.

Dick cried out as burning pain shot throughout his body, his muscles convulsing. He felt faint, his body wanting to shut down to dull the pain.

"The side effects will pass, you've been unconscious for about two hours. I had thought you overdosed."

Slade chuckled as he ran his fingers through raven locks of hair, his other hand reaching out of the boy's sight.

"It's funny. The situation we're in." He spoke, placing a suture kit on the table.

Dick hadn't a clue as to what the assassin was going on about. His mind raced as to why he was still alive: He should be dead. Slade didn't take prisoners. What could he want? Unless...

"You need me."

Slade smacked Dick in the face, hard enough to break the skin of his cheek. Dick groaned as his head throbbed and his ear started to ring.

"I'm to keep you alive." Slade spoke dryly, opening a packet with his teeth.

Deathstroke grazed his hand over the boy's abdomen, reaching for the bottom of his black shirt and pulled up. Dick instinctively jumped at the contact, his wrists beginning to burn from tension of his restraints. Slade threaded a needle and looked down at the wound he had inflicted on the boy. The two then made eye contact with each other, Dick raised an eyebrow.

"What game are you playing? You're gonna beat the shit out of me and then sow me back together?"

Slade rolled his eyes and stuck him with the needle, a little harder than necessary. Dick winced and watched as the assassin stitched the wound on his side.

"If it were my terms I would just beat the shit out of you." Slade stated as he finished his work.

"Who are you working for?" Dick questioned.

"I work for nobody but myself."

"Bullshit."

Slade gripped the boy's face and leaned in close,

"If Batman had taught you anything worthwhile he would have taught you how to keep your fucking mouth shut." A grin tugged at the assassin's lips. "Unless the rumors are true..."

Dick tried to shake away from Slade's grip but to no avail. Deathstroke continued,

"Daddy issues." His thumb pressed against the boy's lower lip, "Parents slaughtered before your eyes. Infamous Bruce Wayne as a father figure. Must have been lonely. I wonder what it took to get his attention?"

Anger flooded Dick's mind, he had been taunted like this before. The idea of Bruce ever doing such a thing made him sick. Joker, Two-Face, Penguin, Riddler... all joked at some point of Robin's 'loyalty' to Batman. This was different, too personal. The words coming from Slade's lips were unbearable. It stung.

"SHUT UP!" Dick growled and bit down on Slade's thumb, he tasted blood.

Slade pulled back and cursed to himself.

"Struck a nerve Grayson?"

Dick turned his head in defiance. He wasn't going to let some criminal get to him. Slade walked around the table stopping where the boy's feet had been restrained. He heard the sound of metal scraping the concrete floor and raised his head to see what Slade was up to. The assassin twirled a tire iron; Dick's stomach dropped.

"Someone's gotta teach you respect." Slade spat, striking the tire iron down on Dick's left leg, shattering his tibia.

Dick screamed. His vision began to fade in black and white dots. He heard the tire iron drop to the floor and felt the restraints on his ankles come loose.

"You know what we did to kids like you in the military?" Slade spoke, spreading Dick's legs apart.

Dick groaned as his broken limb was moved. The assassin got up on the table, straddling Dick's waist. He reached for his belt and began to unbuckle it.

"Go to hell" Dick said, fear dripping from his voice.

"All in good time, I'm sure... but for now Grayson... consider this you're sentence."